Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts
by eternaldarkness33
Summary: A daughter of House Morrigen, a member of the Stormheart Rebellion travels to Winterfell in search of a key to Westeros' Salvation in Jon. Meanwhile, The White Walkers are advancing. Rated M for future scenes. Sansa x OC


**A/N: My apologies, I wanted to get more writing done on this chapter so I just made a new story. I apologize to those who have made this a favorite and followed. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this fic. My writing is a little bit rusty, but I'm doing this for fun. Anyways, here you go!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own any existing Characters in Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. I only own Violet, her brothers and sisters and father and mother. I do not own House Morrigen.**

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 **CHAPTER ONE**

 ** _The Raven and The Crow_**

Violet's movements confirmed she still wasn't aware of her surroundings, as if she was North of the Wall in the dead of night during one of the regions many snowstorms, peering through a cloudy white haze as her senses robbed her. Her body felt weak as she stumbled out of the darkness and slowly opened her eyes. The splitting headache she had along with the sharp pains in her ribs with every inhale was a sure sign that she was alive, but not well. _"Where am I"?_ She wondered. Last she had remembered, she was approaching Winterfell with one of her comrades when bandits began to chase them. Suddenly a bandit appeared ahead of her on his horse, coming straight at her knocking Violet off and sending her rolling down a hill. The faint sounds of people, livestock, blacksmiths hammering away outside the walls made her wince as she attempted to turn on her side.

"Easy now little crow, don't move so fast." A deep feminine voice spoke softly and suddenly. Giving her a jolt as she writhed in pain from the sudden movement. Violet's eyes shifted to the right where the source of the voice became known. A tall, ungainly woman sat at her bedside. Her pale blonde hair dishevelled, covering the dark blue eyes looking kindly at her.

"Here, drink this." The blonde carefully brought the cup of liquid to the young woman's mouth for her to drink. "It's Milk of the Poppy, it should ease the pain Lady Violet." Violet grew confused. How did the woman know her? How did she know her name?

"W-who are you?" She questioned her caregiver, seething as she tried to prop herself up to face the woman.

"My name Is Brienne of Tarth. I served as Kingsguard to King Renly. I also served with your father, uncle and brothers." She paused briefly. "My sincerest condolences to you." The young girl thanked Brienne and grimaced at the thought of the war. It brought nothing but death and destruction. And for what? A pissing contest between who ought to sit on the Iron Throne. Her uncle, her father, and her eldest brothers all served as bannermen of King Renly Baratheon. After his death, most of Renly's men had chosen to submit to his older brother, Stannis as their new king. Others, such as her brothers and father swore loyalty to King Robb Stark. Her uncle, Guyard swore loyalty to Stannis. He was killed in action during the Battle of the Blackwater. Her father and brothers were few of the multitude of casualties that took place at The Twins during the Red Wedding.

"You took quite a tumble, girl. I'm not Maester Wolkan but from the breaths you're taking I'd say you've cracked your ribs. Smacked your head pretty good too." Brienne set the emptied vial to the the stand beside her before reaching to her side to reveal a small leather canteen. Violet appeared pleased as the canteen hit her lips. "I was returning from King's Landing when I saw you laying there. The Bandits that attacked you were holed up just a few miles east. Your friend got the worst of them. I'm sorry he didn't survive."

"So I'm in Winterfell?" The Raven haired girl asked Brienne, managing not to strain herself more as she let out short, abrupt coughs, seething more and more than the last.

"You are, Lady Violet. May I ask what a young girl such as yourself is doing so far from Crow's Nest?"

Violet hesitated to answer. The war had afflicted not just her family, it had afflicted everyone's. In the years that the war had been going on, Violet had left her home, Crow's Nest to join the Stormheart Rebellion. Unbeknownst to the majority of Westeros, the faction had been growing larger and stronger each and every day. Violet dreamt of living in a different Westeros, a liberated Westeros. She imagined it, A place where all of the Westerosi could be free to simply be without Monarchy. The only place Violet had seen remotely like that had been Dorne. To her relief, word of her presence at the Castle had traveled and her reply had been interrupted by the large wooden door of the room flying open, startling both her and Brienne. Behind the door stood a petite young woman. She hadn't seen no more than seventeen name days, her face long and pale. Her grey eyes filled with panic, causing Violet to fill with confusion and dread.

"Arya, what's the matter?" The Tarth native asked, rising up from her seat. Before the youngest Stark girl could answer, the injured Morrigen found it nearly impossible to keep her eyes open. The Milk of the poppy beginning to take effect.

"Raven. White. Wall's." Violet's hearing had become muffled, she heard the distant sounds of Brienne's armor as she had been storming out of the room. Before reaching the door, the tall blonde looked over her shoulder to assure Violet that she would return but it was too late, Violet had been incapacitated by the potion she had been given, and fast asleep.

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Quick, breathless cries of agony escaped through Violet's clenched teeth all the while she stood in her current quarters that dawn at Winterfell. The Milk of the poppy had started to wear off, and she desperately needed to know what caused the young Stark's slight trepidation. Throughout her travels in Westeros with the Stormheart Rebellion, she heard many stories of Lord Eddard Stark's youngest daughter, Arya. Said to have taken after her late Aunt Lyanna Stark, Arya had spent time serving the Faceless Men of Braavos, a society of assassins who served the Many-Faced God. The young girl had a personal hit-list, and word traveled that she had eliminated them herself, if by chance they hadn't already met their fate. Arya Stark was known to be wild and fearless, the northerners had called it "the wolf blood". Violet quietly chuckled to herself only to clutch her ribs in discomfort at the mere thought as it was suitable to the Stark family. Violet carefully limped over to the chest at the opposite side of the cold, dreary room. Her belongings and light armor within.

As a child, Violet was like Arya in more ways than one. The second youngest daughter of House Morrigen, her mother Deidre and eldest sister Claudia's attempts to get her to enjoy more noblewoman pursuits such as embroidery, singing, and dancing were futile. Violet was always seen with her older brother, Ulrich sparring and fighting. She recalled a day from her childhood where her eldest brother Aldwin had caught the two training together. She found it nearly impossible to forget the wide grin on Aldwins normally cold, gaunt face as he chuckled and shook his head at the his two siblings. That day forward, Aldwin helped his younger brother and sister. Violet had learned everything she knew from Aldwin. The day a Raven sent for her to tell her the news that he along with their father, Damon II, Ulrich, older brothers Tidus and Damon IV had perished during the wedding of Roslin Frey and Edmure Tully was one of the few days that will haunt her for the rest of her life.

Shaking her head to try and repress the unpleasant memory, Violet opened her chest to see that her light iron armor had been cleaned and repaired while she had been asleep. Her dark, sea green cloak had been washed and given a more northern look to it as well. She slowly began to strip out of the bloodied loin cloths she had been wearing, and began to apply her armor. The young crow had been about halfway there, until she had started to struggle with fastening one of the leather straps on her pauldron.

"Fuck." She whispered to herself, the pain in her rib sharpening. A knock on the door cut her silent cry short as the Tarth native opened the door, puzzled.

"What are you doing out of bed Lady Violet? You should be resting." Violet quietly let out a weak chuckle and continued to struggle. "A Morrigen never rests." Brienne quickly grew impatient watching Violet try and fail with her pauldron and stepped over to her.

"Here, allow me M'Lady." Brienne fastened the leather straps of Violet's pauldron. Then proceeded to remove the cloak from the chest. "A Raven came last night. The Wall has been destroyed. The White Walkers are coming." Violet felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. _"White Walkers?"_ she asked herself. They hadn't been around for centuries she thought.

"The King in the North hasn't returned yet. But we reckon he will be back soon. Word has it one of Daenerys Targaryen's dragons now serves the army of the dead." Violet wasn't here to fight a war against the White Walkers. She was here because she needed Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen. The Stormheart Rebellion needed a King and Queen on their side. The Rebellion needed an army to serve in the fight to free Westeros.

"Lady Sansa is in charge until then. I've seen your banners. They are not of House Morrigen. They are of the Stormhearts. Are you one of them, Lady Violet?" Brienne inquired, attaching Violet's cloak with a leather strap on one side, and an obsidian and silver brooch in the shape of a crow in flight on the other.

"Yes.." Violet replied. Limping to the door. "Is Lady Sansa awake? I wish to speak with her." Brienne nodded. "She spends her mornings in the Godswood." She had a small vial in her hand, reaching out to Violet.

"More Milk of the poppy. It's going to be a long, painful walk if you don't have any."

"Thank you, Brienne." The Stormheart rebel drank the contents of the Vial, then left for the Godswood.

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 **A/N: And here starts Violet's journey. I hope you guys like it. I'm open to any positive messages and constructive feedback as well.**


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